


Brown Paper Packages Tied Up With Strings

by siesiegirl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - In Storybrooke | Cursed, F/M, Rumbelle Showdown, Rumbelle Showdown 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:31:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3802054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siesiegirl/pseuds/siesiegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumbelle Showdown 2015 Round Three<br/>prompts: Boxing, No Touching, Stolen Kisses</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brown Paper Packages Tied Up With Strings

Mr. Gold didn't have anyone to give Christmas presents, but that didn't stop him from making use of the boxing and wrapping service set up by the charming librarian, Miss French. She was a friendly, talkative thing, and he found it easy enough to steer her toward talking (about _anything_ , really) instead of asking him questions he didn't care to answer. The polite opening inquiry of whom his gift was for could hardly be avoided, of course, and he found himself spinning an elaborate tale of a son living out of state. That was safe enough, and a good reason why no one had ever met nor heard of this son, and it was easy to remember. He made up a little bit each year, something slightly new and different as time went on. He even came to enjoy coming up with these little fantasies to present to her, like the boxes he handed her to wrap.

It also, fortunately, prompted Miss French to talk about all the places she wished to visit, places she only knew from her books but which she had great plans to see for herself some day. Plans which, in the funny way of this little town, somehow managed never to come to fruition. He always thought that was a shame, and some of his fondest daydreams were imagining her look of wonder upon seeing something or somewhere new for the first time. Gold had always been more of a homebody, himself, but hearing her gush about exotic locales made him suddenly want to go, too. With her, especially.

It would be ridiculous to say a man his age had a _crush_ on the pretty librarian, but he was... infatuated, he couldn't deny. Would it be too forward to allow their hands to brush when handing over his box? Yes, of course it would. Maybe next year. 

Maybe next year. How many years had he been thinking that, now? As he carefully minds his own hands while he watches her nimble fingers tie beautiful ribbons around presents no one would ever open. This year he found it particularly difficult, as she kept _looking_ at him, tried to lure him into conversation instead of rambling on in her endearing accent as she had done in years past. 

"Are you all right, Mr. Gold?" she asked, blue eyes full of concern. "You seem... a little quiet, tonight."

"I'm always quiet," he shrugged.

"And I talk too much," she said, and looked back down at the box to apply the last few strips of tape. Were her cheeks flushing? He supposed it _was_ a little warm in here. "It's kind of you to listen to me go on about all my silly plans."

"Oh, no, Miss French," he reached for her hand, but caught himself just in time. "They aren't silly at all."

She shook her head. "When was the last time _anyone_ actually left town?" she challenged. 

"Well, that doesn't mean someone couldn't," he replied. "I believe if anyone could manage it, it would be you, Miss French."

That time he was more certain of the color in her cheeks, but she fiddled with the bow on his box instead of replying. Gold didn't mind. That pretty blush was worth _thousands_ of words. 

"I... live on Avonlea Drive," she said at last, and Gold was so struck by the non sequitur that he didn't know how to respond. "It's a few blocks east of here." _He_ lived on the eastern edge of town, but he couldn't see what that had to do with the price of tea.

"I thought, perhaps you would let me walk with you that far? On your way home?" she asked.

Gold's heart pounded and he was certain the entire library could hear it. She couldn't be asking... No, of course not. "Of course, Miss French," he said, shaking himself from his momentary stupor. "Of course I'll escort you home. It's growing dark outside."

Was that disappointment on her face? Why? He didn't have long to wonder before she replaced it with a smile and handed him his box. "Thank you, Mr. Gold," she said, "I'll just get my coat."

His fingertips itched. Hers had been mere inches away. Maybe next year.

"Ready?" she asked as she walked up to him, wrapping a thick muffler around her neck and tossing one fringed tail over her shoulder. Gold sighed in relief when she tucked her tempting hands into her pockets. 

"Yes, quite," he said, busying his own hands with the box in one and his cane in the other, though he still managed to hold the door for her with his elbow. 

"You can leave in half an hour if no one else comes in," she told Miss Blanchard, her assistant in this quaint venture, as she stepped through the doorway, "just remember to lock up."

The odds of anyone else turning up were slim to none.

Gold had no idea what to say to Miss French as they walked, though he feared she might find the silence awkward. She probably had friends as gregarious as she was, and was unused to a taciturn old grump like him. 

They reached the intersection of her street, and she actually laughed. "I spent the entire walk trying to decide what to say and ended up not saying anything, I'm sorry."

"It's all right," he said, the surprise of her laugh forcing the truth from him. "I was doing the same."

She smiled at him, and he decided her smile was even better than her pretty blush. "Well, I enjoyed it anyway," she said, and if he was surprised when she laughed, he was outright stunned when she went up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

Miss French _kissed_ him. Near the corner of his mouth, at that. Almost touching his lips. He had allowed himself to imagine kissing Miss French before, but none of those first-kiss scenarios went like this. The little minx had gone and _stolen_ one.

"Thank you, Mr. Gold," she said.

"Thank you, Miss French," he replied, rather stupidly, he thought. "Good night, I mean."

"Good night." She smiled at him again and turned away.

Gold smiled, too, when he realized that 'next year' was really only a little over a week away...


End file.
